


A Canvas Sky

by Delphi



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Making Out, Other, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pyro requires some careful handling, and Dell is more than happy to take things slow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Canvas Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Kink Bingo amnesty round. Kink: Tickling

Insulation is key to Pyro's optimal operating conditions. 

This is common sense, given how rarely Pyro can be found outside that suit, but Dell has backed it up with his share of observation, experimentation, and subsequent calculation. Pyro is a lot more...predictable when there's more than just the usual organic casing standing between an inventively wired brain and the outside world. More importantly, Pyro is a lot _happier_ with a few extra layers taking the sharp edges off reality.

And Dell likes keeping his Sweet Pea happy.

To that end, he's piloting a few workarounds for getting closer without letting the bad in or the worse out. The blanket fort in particular is proving to be a real winner.

Half the bedding on base is currently draped over a sturdy support structure of pillows in the corner of Dell's bedroom, making a cozy bunker just big enough for two. A few emergency candles from the supply room are lined up in jars on the floor next to his mattress, along with a six-pack of beer and a bowl of potato chips. Nat King Cole is softly crooning from the record player, and there's a sentry set up outside the door in case anyone gets some damn fool idea about interrupting.

Dell is stretched out on his back, watching the shadows move on the bed-sheet roof of the fort. Pyro's cuddled up sweetly beside him, head on Dell's shoulder. They're both dressed down to t-shirts and sweatpants, which is practically naked after months of fumbling through an asbestos suit and going back and forth on his guess at what kind of equipment he was even trying to operate under there. 

It's nice, though—this whole business of taking it slow. He feels like a teenager again, when holding hands was enough to get him hot and bothered. The sound of someone else breathing in his ear hatches butterflies in his stomach, and he's remembering what it was like when every touch had to be ventured on the sly. Just fooling around. Just playing.

One finger sneaks under the hem of Pyro's t-shirt. Who'd have thought that getting ready to run for second base could still be so exciting? His blood's heading south as he ventures above the drawstring waistband to a stretch of warm, smooth skin. Lord, but Pyro's soft all over: downright silky between the scars, with tiny dark freckles peppered in the least expected places. There’s hardly a sharp angle to be found from head to toe, and it’s all topped off with the bounciest mess of curly black hair Dell's ever had the pleasure of burying his nose in.

His fingertip runs lightly back and forth, and Pyro tenses up.

Dell stops. "No good?"

Pyro fidgets. "Just tickles."

It doesn't sound like a complaint, so he does it again, sketching a light circle. 

"Engie!" Pyro flails, making a sound halfway between a hiccup and a giggle. 

"Whoops," Dell says, venturing further up Pyro's t-shirt and tickling harder. "Looks like my hand slipped!"

Retaliation comes swift and fierce. Pyro wiggles clear of Dell's crawling fingers with a holler and then springs upright with dangerously narrowed eyes. Dell barely has a second to brace himself before he's pinned down by a hundred and seventy pounds of vengeance. The air's knocked clean out of him courtesy of a knee to his kidneys as cold fingers scurry up his sides. Dell wheezes, bucking like a bee-stung bronco.

"Dominated!" Pyro crows, straddling Dell's hips.

And that's...that's real nice.

One of the candle jars goes over in all the excitement. Dell laughs uproariously, beating out the fire one-handed as he thrashes under the onslaught of tickles. 

"Uncle!” he cries.

His Sweet Pea doesn't play fair, though. No mercy is granted, not until Dell is nearly crying from laughing so hard, and coughing from the smoke too. They're rubbing up against each other, half wrestling and half doing something a little naughtier when Pyro finally stops tickling him in favour of pinning his hands down.

Dell's laughter gives way to breathlessness. He doesn't fight to free himself. Why would he when the view's just fine from down here? Pyro's all rosy cheeks and heaving chest, sharp white teeth bared in a grin of victory. There's a flicker of surprise and a head tilt when the downright perky state of Dell's dick under Pyro's backside makes itself known.

"Hi there, darlin'," Dell murmurs, holding still and letting Pyro make the call on whether to stay in the saddle.

Pyro rocks thoughtfully. "Hi."

The rub of well-worn cotton and the firm weight of a round behind is the nicest thing to happen to Dell's dick all day. The way Pyro gets a sort of dreamy look after a little more wiggling in the right place is a close second. Dell's eyelids want to droop, but he doesn't let them. It's usually best to stay alert in these situations, just in case things start to go sideways.

The grip around Dell's wrists tightens and then eases up. Pyro flops down on top of him, curls bouncing. 

"Oof!"

"Hi," Pyro says again, looking at him seriously before rubbing noses with him.

A man could lose himself for days in those big brown eyes. Or at least waste a few minutes trying to get a good tally of eyelashes and freckles.

"Hi." Dell smiles and puts his hands under Pyro's t-shirt again.

He seems to remember that bare back still qualifies as second base if you're playing lawyerball, and dry humping surely counts as flying past the shortstop. He lifts his head up and steals a kiss. Pyro's lips taste like potato chip salt. They're a little chapped from getting chewed on too often, but they're warm and downright adorable as they kiss him back.

Pyro sighs against Dell's mouth, hips still sliding back and forth. "You feel _good_."

"So do you, darlin'." Dell runs his fingertips along Pyro's spine, nice and slow.

Tempting though it is to swing for the fences, he stops at the sweet dip right above Pyro’s tailbone. A light tickle to one side makes Pyro laugh and burrow down, breathing damp and heavy against the crook of Dell's neck as they keep on rocking together. Dell grins. The way he sees it, he's going to come in his pants like a teenage horndog tonight, or else he's going to have to follow up this date by two-timing with a bottle of hand lotion, and either one is just fine by him.

"'ngie..."

The word is muffled, mumbled sweetly against his shoulder, and all the other noises that follow are kept close and safe in a cocoon of blankets and baritone jazz.


End file.
